I’ve just picked the first apricots off the scraggly little tree in my yard. The entire crop will be about a couple dozen apricots – most will go to the birds. And that’s fine with me. But the taste of that real, that fresh apricot took me back to the wonderful tree that Dad planted at the family house in Lakeside, California.
Apricot tree in Lakeside backyard.
When I was planning to leave California and rent out the house, my nephew asked if I would be okay emotionally letting others live in the house that up until then had sheltered only family. My response was that I could let the house go, but I was a little choked up about leaving the apricot tree. It was about 35 years old, pruned to a perfect bowl shape and every year produced a huge crop of apricots. They were almost too fragile to transport – it was better to graze. Pick and eat immediately. The best!
Turns out 35 years is old for an apricot tree and it was beginning to fail. After I moved away, the limbs just gave out and the tree had to be removed. I’m so glad I wasn’t there to see it go. I’ll admit it – I’m sentimental about that tree. How about you? Is there a tree that affects you deeply?
Always Backroads 
It will be the trees that draw my attention to places and usually one tree will call out more strongly than the others and pull me in to sit.
My sentimental tree was in the mountains of California where I went to a Campfire Girl camp for many summers. I would often wander into the woods to escape people for awhile. It was a Jeffery Pine that had gotten hit by lightening. She continued to grow crooked and branches came out in bunches making it look like a giant had plucked her up and stuck her back in the ground upside down. The view from her south side was of Mt San Gorgonio (Greyback) and I’d just sit and dream and smell her vanilla scented bark.
After my camp years and before I left CA I would still visit. My last visit found her on the ground and I sat by her and cried.
Reblogged this on About 70 Years.
I climbed in that tree when I was *significantly* less weighty than I am now. 🙂
Am I correct in thinking I’m the nephew? I seem to recall that conversation.
You are correct. It was a beautiful, friendly tree.